An Unlikely Companion
by Murtagh Strikes Back
Summary: This is the tale of the friendship that grew between Legolas and Gimli, from the beginning of the quest of the ring, to their final departure from the shores of MiddleEarth. Gimli's POV


The night is dark. Neither stars nor moon are there to light the night sky. How it must pain the elf. He is sitting just outside the circle of light made by the campfire, gazing upwards as though the stars will materialize there if he keeps it up long enough.

It has been three weeks since our company set out from Rivendell, and still I feel ill at ease around him. The other seven I can relate to. Gandalf I am well acquainted with, as he has visited my father many a time in recent years. Boromir is a solemn man, yet steady and practical. The four hobbits are comfortable folk, and I feel quite at ease in their presence. Aragorn is a little strange, no doubt due to having been raised by elves, yet he is easy enough to get along with. Only the elf remains a mystery.

His name is Legolas Thranduillon, or so I have heard him introduced. He claims to be son of the king of Mirkwood, though this does not endear him to me at all. From what I have heard of the king of Mirkwood, he is a ruthless and cruel being.

Legolas himself is very strange, even for an elf. He will talk to all of us, seemingly at ease, yet he seems to keep himself apart. Oftentimes at night, when we all group about the campfire and talk, he will sit away from us, gazing up at the sky as he does now, or singing songs to himself in his peculiar language. He walks light and tireless during the day, and seems not affected by any change of weather or scenery. He dearly loves the stars, and never tires of looking at them.

Ah, he is coming back over to us. He is in a sociable mood, it seems. Aragorn gestures for the elf to sit next to him. The two are now chatting away happily in a language that I do not understand, and do not care to understand. I daresay it is dull talk anyway. Most likely they are exchanging tales of past happenings. Aragorn was brought up by the elves, and thus he is most comfortable around them. It is clear that the presence of Legolas brings him great comfort and joy. I wish I could say the elf had a similar affect on me.

Somehow, I do not think he and I shall come to be friends.

Ever since we arrived in these accursed woods, I have been up to my ears in elves. There is no respite from it. They run hither and thither, now singing and dancing merrily before my eyes, now dropping out of trees overhead without warning, nearly startling the life out of me. They carry on mercilessly in their own tongue, the sound of which I have long since come to despise. I know that most people deem it a beautiful language, but I find it unbearably irritating. And if I have one more elf tell me the story of Elbereth, I shall not be responsible for my actions.

Surprisingly, my one comfort has come from Legolas. He walks with me through these strange woods, providing some companionship and familiarity. Outside of Lothlorien and away from the rest of his kin I found him quite strange, but now that we walk among other elves, he seems suddenly far saner. In comparison with many of the Lothlorien elves, he is positively normal.

In turn, I have been doing my best to comfort him, which surprises me. Never did I think I would be the one to lend comfort to a grieving elf. For he grieves, I can see it. The loss of Gandalf hit him hard, though he does his best to conceal his pain. Often, when he thinks no-one is looking, I can see his eyes grow wet and shine with tears, before he determinedly blinks them away. It astonishes me how one minute he looks utterly miserable, then the next he is suddenly all laughter and merriment, and seemingly completely happy. It makes me wonder, sometimes, whether he is really so content with life in general as he would wish me to believe, or whether that too is just a façade. With elvish folk, there's just no knowing.

So, against my will and better judgement, I seem to be fast becoming friends with the elf. I do not know what will come of it. To be sure, both our fathers would be furious if they were to witness our camaraderie. Thranduil Oropherion harbours little good will towards the dwarves, and my own father has still not forgiven the king for his treatment of him during their journey to the Lonely Mountain. Ah Elbereth, that would be a sight indeed.

Heavens! See what that accursed elf has done to me? I have spent only a few short weeks in his company, and already I am swearing by Elbereth like any common elf!

I am standing out by the parapet at the top of the city of Gondor. Above me Legolas is sitting, dangling his legs over the side of the wall. How he climbed up there in the first place, I do not know.

It is now a week since Aragorn was crowned king of Gondor, and already fortunes here are changing. Legolas sent word to his father in Mirkwood, and a company of elves arrived shortly and have taken up abode in some forsaken wilderness, trying to restore beauty, or some other nonsense. Good luck to them, say I.

Even though his kin are now here with him, Legolas chooses to spend most of his days with me. We have agreed to leave here as soon as our lords allow, and we will travel through Middle Earth together. He has promised to come back to the glittering caves with me, and I in turn must walk through the forest of Fangorn with him. After that, who knows where we shall go.

My friendship with Legolas, and I do call it that, is like to nothing I have experienced before. He is truly the most peculiar being, yet I now find his oddness endearing, rather than irritating. He can gladly sit for hours on end, staring up at the night sky with an expression of utter peace and tranquillity upon his face. It would not confound me so if it were not for the fact that, to my knowledge, the sky stays pretty much the same every night.

Despite our obvious differences, I have come to regard him as a brother of sorts. We have both learned to love and respect one another, in a way that I thought no elf and dwarf were capable of. In him I confide all my deepest secrets and fears, and though he is far more discreet, I can nearly always figure out what is going on in his mind. His seemingly impassive visage is not hard to read, once you grow accustomed to it.

The bell has sounded for dinner now. Ah, happy hour! The food here is truly excellent. Since arriving here, I have dined like a king. Legolas complains about it almost incessantly, as only Legolas could. He insists the food is sickeningly rich, and worries that he will grow fat. If anyone should be worrying about their weight it is me, yet I cannot bring myself to care overmuch. Still, since arriving here I have found my breeches growing uncomfortably tight around the middle. Legolas, to my knowledge, has neither gained nor lost a single pound, so I fail to see what all the fuss is about.

Ah, the sea! 'Tis a beautiful and wondrous thing. Legolas loves it dearly; since the day he first looked out upon the turbulent waters, they have captured his heart. He is gazing out upon it now, a sort of peaceful fulfilment written on his face.

The ship is ready for us. Long and hard he laboured to build it, and now it is ready. It is time to go. I gently lay a hand on his shoulder, and he starts. He had forgotten of my presence. Silently, I lead him down to where we can board the ship that is to bear us away from the land we have known all our lives. The small, rational part of my mind is in shock. What am I doing, it asks. I, Gimli son of Gloin, am preparing to depart the land I have known since birth, to spend the rest of my mortal life dwelling among the elves. The rest of me, however, is perfectly reconciled to the idea. It will be a refreshing experience, and I am in need of a rest. My long days in Middle Earth tire me. I am shocked and honoured that Legolas asked me, a dwarf, to accompany him to the undying lands. I know for a fact that it is against all their customs and, most probably, laws, yet he doesn't seem to care. A shock indeed it shall be indeed for the other elves, when he leaves his ship with me in tow. We shall have much laughter from it, I daresay.

We are now ready to set sail. I look back upon the land where I have dwelt for so long, and the realisation dawns on me. I will never again walk that country, see the sights it has to offer. Before this moment, Legolas and I travelled far and wide, seeing all the sights we could think of as we desired. I have seen it all now. I am ready.

As the ship begins to move, leaving behind the shores of Middle Earth, I run to the back of the ship and lean over, watching the land fade away. Reverting to my own tongue, I utter my last farewell to the land. Legolas, coming up beside me, gives me an odd stare. Rarely do I speak in the language of the dwarves, and he does not like it when I do. He says it is a rough, ugly tongue. He has tried to teach me words of his own language, yet though I try my hardest, they ever remain just beyond my grasp.

Nevertheless, I am glad to have Legolas beside me now. His friendship has brought me great comfort and joy, and kept me going through the battle for Middle Earth. He is stubborn, proud and foolish, yet I fear I may have a little more in common with him than I wish to believe. He is my dearest friend, and now I am doomed to spend the rest of my life surrounded by him and his peculiar kindred.

I am ready.


End file.
